As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath.
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